Flying and the Final Dalton Flukes
by F Elizabeth
Summary: Sequel to WaODM: With summer over, it's back to class at Dalton Academy, and Kurt and the Warblers are back with a bang. Senior year should be the easiest, right? Not exactly. With a new school year comes new faces, new music, and new things to worry about.
1. A New Chapter

Hello, readers.

It's finally September! As of now, I'm officially 18 years of age, free to be an adult and vote and do things. But then again, I can hardly wake up on time, so how can I be an adult?

Anyway, most of you are probably really confused as to why I'm posting a new story. This is the sequel to WaODM. I knew I couldn't put it off any longer, seeing as WaODM still gets views every single day (thank you so much for that!). Also, it's been about nine months since I ended WaODM and I decided that this story needed to be published ASAP.

Thank you so much to the readers out there who supported WaODM with everything in your hearts. It means the world to me that people actually read and like my stories. I hope people do the same with this one.

And it's so weird to think that I published WaODM my sophomore year, when I was only sixteen. Now, I'm eighteen, and I'm publishing the sequel... That's weird.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the new installment, Flying and the Final Dalton Flukes!

* * *

**A New Chapter**

* * *

**That old September feeling, left over from school days, of summer passing, vacation nearly done, obligations gathering, books and football in the air... Another fall, another turned page: there was something of jubilee in that annual autumnal beginning, as if last year's mistakes had been wiped clean by summer. - Wallace Stegner, _Angel of Repose_**

* * *

"A little to the left, David. It looks crooked."

David looked down at Wes from his perch on the desk chair and he rolled his eyes. "I think it looks fine."

"It looks a little off-center," Wes insisted. He let go of the ladder and stood back with his arms crossed over his chest. He nodded once. "Yep. It needs to be moved more to the left."

"Kurt, will you tell this knucklehead that it looks fine where it is?" David asked of the boy sitting in the lawn chair. He lowered his hands from the ceiling, also lowering the ball of sparkling glass and mirrors, wires dangling from the top.

"I don't know, David," Kurt sighed and crossed his legs, resting his arms on the plastic armrests. For the last twenty minutes, he couldn't seem to get comfortable in the shaky lawn chair, one of two that Wes had brought as decorations for the room he and David shared.

David sighed and Wes pursed his lips in thought.

"Why don't you ask me?" Blaine asked after a moment of silence. "I mean, I'm the only one you haven't asked yet. I could have a pretty good opinion, too."

Wes laughed. "Yeah, sure. The reason we asked Kurt was because he has an eye for design and placement and that feng shui stuff. You don't."

Blaine leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. "I see how it is. Thanks, best friends since freshman year."

"No problem," David said. He strained to lean forward and position the mirrored ball on the ceiling. "Hey, Wes, how about this? Is this to the left enough for you?"

"More to the left," he ordered simply.

David stared murderously at him. "What? I'm going to fall off the ladder if I go any further left!"

"Too bad!" He grinned widely.

Blaine raised his hand. "As a piece of advice, I say you don't even put a disco ball in your room. It's a hassle to put up, and it's sort of a fire hazard, if you didn't realize."

Both Wes and David stared at him without saying anything. Then Wes broke into laughter.

"Sheesh, Blaine," he said through his fit, "I think Diego's rubbed off on you. Just because you're running for North's Precursor this year, doesn't mean you have to act like the last one."

Blaine lifted his shoulder, saying nothing in reply, and Kurt saw a light blush paint his cheek.

Since it was the start of the year, the school would hold elections to choose a new Precursor for each wing. Since Diego Blackwood, the Precursor the previous year, was graduated and gone, it was mandatory for a new one to be chosen. Kurt had made the point several times to Blaine that he was just about the only person in the entire wing willing to run for Precursor, but that didn't decrease Blaine's nerves.

In the other wings, the choices were almost a given: Simon Dougray was a shoo-in to stay the Precursor for South, as was Adam Harvey for East and Stephen Gregory for West.

"Don't let yourself get a big head, Blaine," Wes said as he circled the ladder, making sure David didn't fall. "I mean, you're not even the Precursor yet."

"I don't have a big head," Blaine protested hastily and shifted in his lawn chair, which was placed strategically next to Kurt's. He looked over at Kurt. "Do I?"

"No, of course not," Kurt said gently. He took the other boy's hand and gave him a smile.

"He's only saying that because he's your boyfriend," David mumbled. His hands worked at securing the disco ball to the ceiling.

Kurt flushed. "Am not."

"Are too," both Wes and David said in unison, and they grinned.

Blaine rolled his eyes and slowly stood up from his chair. He cast a look at the clock sitting on the side table between the two beds. "Well, it's almost time for class."

"And?" David said. He carefully stepped down the ladder and folded it up.

"He means that we actually need to get to class," Kurt clarified, standing up as well, "not skip out, even if you think it's a good idea."

Wes groaned and flopped down face-first on his bed, which was already messy with clothes and papers from last year. "Oh, come on. Just the first day. We're seniors. It's not like we actually need to go to class this year."

"Don't let senioritis start on the first day of school," Blaine said in a sing-song voice. "If that happens, the rest of the year is going to be awful."

Wes rolled onto his back and covered his face. "If it was bad last year, I don't see how much worse it could be this year."

"Don't jinx yourself, man," David said as he leaned the ladder against the wall and folded his arms over his chest.

Kurt nodded helpfully. "If that happens, then I don't know what to tell you."

Wes gave a groan in reply.

Blaine cast another look at the clock. "Well, I guess Wes will have to get up whenever he feels like it because he's a 'senior.'" He made air quotes with his fingers. "I, on the other hand, am going to get my bag and head to first period."

With a look to Kurt, the two boys left the room that David and Wes shared and started down the hall, which hadn't changed at all over the summer: The floors were still parquet and laid out in a decorative design, and the walls were still pasted with the same ornate, floral wallpaper. Furniture still leaned against the walls, lamps dotting tables and potted plants rounding off corners.

Kurt inhaled the familiar scent of furniture polish, which had been ever-present last year. He let his hand twine with Blaine's as they came up to one of the doors, one marked with a small number ten.

Room number ten was a room near the end of the hall. It was one of the bigger rooms, but only by a few feet in some places. The bathroom was definitely larger than the one in Wes' and David's room, and so was the closet.

It was also the room that Kurt and Blaine shared. Last year, the two boys had had their own, individual rooms, but this year, they decided to reserve one in both their names.

For some reason, sharing a room with the other boy made Kurt giddy. He liked the idea of sleeping only a few feet away from Blaine; he liked having the ability to share a bathroom with him, as well as a closet, and a desk, and a bathroom. Kurt squeezed Blaine's hand without realizing it.

"What?" Blaine asked softly. He dug out the room key from his pocket with one hand and slid it into the lock.

Kurt raised his eyebrows in surprise. "What? Oh, nothing. It's fine. I'm fine."

He gave Kurt an odd look, but laughed and pushed the door open. The moment Blaine dropped both hands to his sides, Kurt wanted to grab for his hand again. He hated feeling space between his fingers, but he let Blaine into the room.

"So, what's your schedule?" Blaine asked as he searched his side of the room for his bag.

"French, US economics, Warblers, and government," Kurt recited, pleased with his memory. He'd already memorized the room numbers as well, but he kept a copy of his schedule in his pocket, just in case.

Blaine nodded and found his bag. "That sounds pretty good. What level of French are you taking?"

"Seven," Kurt answered. He stepped into the bathroom to check his hair. "You know, Dalton wasn't going to offer a level seven for French because there was no one who wanted to take it. But there must be enough so that there's a class."

Blaine puckered his lips in silence.

"What?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking," he muttered, staring down at the floor.

Kurt came out of the bathroom and took Blaine's face in his hands. "You look cute when you think."

"Oh, do I?" Blaine's eyebrows rose. He leaned forward to close the space between them and pressed their lips together. For a moment, Kurt's heart rate spiked and he took a step closer.

Blaine pulled away first with a grin on his face. "Okay, come on. We have class."

Kurt blinked. "O-okay."

"Are you okay?"

He licked his lips and swallowed, hard. "Maybe."

Blaine simply laughed and took his hand. "Come on. We're going to be late for class."

* * *

The two boys met up with Wes and David, who were still bickering about the disco ball in their room. As they walked through the main hallway of the wing, Kurt felt an air of superiority. From just looking at the boys around him, he could easily pick out who was a freshman and who was a senior. He felt pleased to finally be a senior, to be at the top of the food chain. He felt like this year would be easier, not as stressful as the year before. After all, he'd gotten past all the standardized testing that was required to apply for college later on.

They stepped outside, into the crisp, fall air, and Kurt tucked his bag closer to him. He stayed close to Blaine, his hand drifting down to brush the other boy's. From the corner of his eye, he saw Blaine smile a little.

The boys entered the main school building, and it was the same as when they'd left it two months ago: the floors were newly waxed and a little slick, but the floral wallpaper remained the same. Some of the paintings on the walls had been changed or removed, but most of them were the same ones from last year.

The grand staircase was flooded with boys. The wood had been polished over the summer and now, it gleamed in the fluorescent lighting. Across from the staircase stood Ms. Lovett, the director for the Warblers. She hadn't changed much over the summer: her dark hair was still a bushy cloud above her, and she still wore an array of noisy metal bracelets on her wrists. She also still enjoyed tormenting the boys at Dalton, Kurt realized as she stuck her foot out to trip a freshman.

"So, this is it," Wes said, moving to the side of the hallway. "This is our last first day of high school."

"Don't start with that. I'm going to get all choked up," David told him and he hit the other boy in the arm.

Blaine folded his arms over his chest. "Oh, you'll be fine. Enjoy it while it lasts, because then you'll have to start worrying about your first, first day of college."

"Okay, don't start on _that_," Kurt scolded. Now that it was senior year, he and the others had to apply for college soon. The window to send in applications was already open and would close by December. Just the mere thought of college made him anxious, and he shook his head.

"Anyway, let's just hope we survive the first day," David said, looking up at the ceiling.

"Let's hope we survive the entire _year_," Wes corrected. "I'm not looking forward to any of my classes, especially choir.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Why not choir?"

"Because," he sighed, "we'll have to deal with the new freshmen. And we'll also have to deal with everyone who's returning, and I happen to hate a lot of the people who are returning."

David rolled his eyes. "You only hate Will."

"And Carson and James," Wes added sharply.

Blaine pinched his lips together. "They're only three people. I know last year wasn't the best year, per say, but I'm sure they'll have more on their minds than just trying to make our lives hell."

Kurt glanced away at the mention of the three boys from South. He immediately thought of the two blondes: Carson, who was more of a sidekick than anything else, and Will, who was harsh and selfish. Then there was James, who was the stain of black against the purity of light. The last time Kurt had seen James, the dark haired boy was as thin as a rail, with skin resembling parchment paper and long, slim fingers.

Every memory Kurt had of the boy flashed back at once, starting with the first time they'd talked, to James' audition, to the Valentine's Day Brunch, to Nationals. Thinking of it made Kurt sick, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Well, I guess we should get going," Wes sighed after looking at the clock. "See you guys at lunch?"

"Definitely," Blaine answered. "We'll save you a seat."

With that, Wes and David took off down one of the hallways, smiling at other boys they noticed. Then Blaine turned to Kurt and looked up at him.

"You okay?" he asked.

Kurt nodded numbly. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You don't look fine. Are you nervous?"

He shook his head. "Okay, well, maybe a little. I'm just not looking forward to choir…"

Blaine's half smile dropped into a grimace. "You're going to be fine. I'll do everything in my power to keep them away from you. Actually, I'll keep them away from me, too."

"Alright," Kurt squeaked.

Blaine took one of his hands and moved closer to him. "It's going to be alright. You're going to get through today and everything will be okay, okay? This year's going to be the greatest."

Kurt pulled a smile onto his face and nodded. "Okay. I trust you," he said. "But if this year doesn't live up to my expectations, I'm asking for a refund."

Blaine grinned and ducked his chin to his chest. "Come on. I'll walk you to class."

The two boys, still holding hands, moved through the small crowd of boys down one of the halls, following Kurt's schedule. They passed the elevator that was permanently broken, the one Kurt had gotten trapped in last year. With James.

Blaine gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"What do you have first period?" Kurt asked in his ear as they walked. From here, Kurt could see his room at the end of the hall.

"European history," Blaine answered with disgust. "Lord, help me."

Kurt laughed under his breath and they came to a stop in front of Kurt's classroom.

"Well," Blaine sighed as he stepped out of the way of another boy, "I guess this is so long and farewell for now."

"Until third period," Kurt reminded him, his lips curved up in a smile.

"Until third period," he echoed, and he leaned in to peck Kurt briefly on the lips, giving his hand another tight squeeze. With a smile, he vanished into the crowd, and Kurt hoped he would make it to his class before the bell rang.

Sighing, Kurt kept his bag close to his side and walked into the room. The air was crisp and smelled strongly of old books, and the walls were covered from ceiling to floor in maps of Europe and posters with slogans in French. On the far side of the room, the curtains on the windows were drawn back to let in the morning light.

The teacher, or who Kurt supposed was the teacher, was standing at the front of the room. She was short, almost Rachel Berry short, with her brown hair pulled up into a thin bun onto the top of her head, and her skin was smooth and pale. Though she did have on a little too much eyeliner, and it made her look more like a raccoon than a foreign language teacher.

"Come in," she said quietly, waving her hand awkwardly at the boys crowding the door, "I don't bite. Sit anywhere you'd like." For a moment, everyone in the room seemed to relax. But they all groaned when she announced, "I'll draw up a seating chart later."

Kurt lingered at the front of the room and chose a seat against the wall, right under the windows. He sat down and watched the boys filter in. So far, there were only seven others in the classroom—three with glasses that were all crowding one boy's phone, and the remaining four looked like they had no interest in being here at all. Kurt couldn't help but stare at the one in the back who was already dozing on his desk.

Leaning back, he eased his phone out of his pocket and found a message from Blaine:

_Have fun in French! See you in Warblers. Sit with me at lunch?_

Kurt rolled his eyes, the blood rushing to his face, and tapped out a quick reply. As he set his phone down on the desk, he froze and glanced up.

The boy standing in front of him donned a slight smirk and blonde hair that was carefully brushed back, but a lock still hung down in front of his face. He had a messenger bag slung over one shoulder and his tie was loose around his neck. For a moment, he looked like someone who had gotten terribly drunk, with his hair a mess and his clothes loose and not put together.

"Bonjour, Hummel," Will greeted, in a tone that made a lump form in Kurt's throat.

Kurt glared up at the blonde and set his jaw. "What are you doing here?"

"Ah, ah, ah," he said in a mocking tone and dropped his bag on the floor next to the desk beside Kurt's. "That's not a proper way to greet a fellow classmate. And it makes it even worse because it appears that we have French, not just choir." He plopped down into the desk and grinned, like the Cheshire cat.

"Bonjour, William," Kurt said around ground teeth. "Does this mean I have to say 'bonjour' when I see you in choir, too? Because I don't think I can't handle saying 'hello' to you twice in one day."

The blonde waved a hand at him and used the other to fix his loose tie. "Once is enough. At least you acknowledge my existence," he said briskly. "And didn't anyone tell you? It's Will, not William."

"Really? I thought it was 'asshole'." The corner of Kurt's lips twitched.

Will feigned pain and rested one hand over his heart. "Ouch. Can we lay off the hard feelings for one day? It's only the first day of school."

"Your point?" Kurt crossed his legs and he drummed his nails against the desk.

"I haven't done anything bad to you," he said. He brushed a lock of hair back from his eyes and tightened his tie.

Kurt looked past him and watched the teacher gather a clipboard at her desk, preparing to start. "Yet."

Will raised his eyebrows, almost intrigued. "So you're saying I'll do something bad to you?"

"Most likely," he said shortly. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than for the floor to open up and swallow him. Or swallow Will. Anything to get the blonde out of his sight.

"What, are you a psychic now?" Will quipped. Physically, he looked exhausted, from the dark circles that ringed his eyes underneath. But his skin was tan—probably from his life guarding job over the summer—and his already blonde hair was lighter. If it was possible, he looked leaner.

Kurt's eyes flitted behind Will, to the other boys in the room. The ones who had been crowding over the phone were back in their respective seats. The clock on the wall ticked slowly, reading a minute before the bell rang. "No, just going off of last year."

"Last year is last year. We're seniors, Kurt—" Will rolled his eyes.

"Don't start with me."

He shrugged his shoulders in defense. "What? We are. And we're in the same French class this semester."

"Don't remind me. As if I didn't get enough of you last year." Kurt whipped around in his seat, gripping the corners of his desk.

Will leaned forward on his elbows and grinned, which drove Kurt insane. "Goodie for you, right? You get the French extraordinaire for a whole eighteen weeks."

"And who is this so-called French extraordinaire? Surely you're talking about me," Kurt told him flatly.

"Nope. Moi." The blonde smiled again, revealing flawlessly white teeth.

Kurt pursed his lips and glanced at the clock again, willing the second hand to move faster. "As if you know more French than me. I basically translated 'Sound of Music' into French when I was fourteen."

"My dad took me to France when I was thirteen when he went there for a business trip," Will said, leaning back in his seat.

"Like that means anything. All you could probably do was ask where the bathrooms were."

One corner of his lips turned up. "Ah, no. I actually translated bits and pieces for my dad when we were talking with his coworkers."

"Like that means anything to me."

"It seems like it means the _world _to you right now, Hummel."

"Alright!" the teacher cheered from the front of the room. She shut the door just as the bell rang and moved to the podium that stood in front of the white board. "Je suis Mademoiselle Speed! Bienvenue à sept français!"

Will made an annoyed sound under his breath that almost sounded like a growl and he sat back in his seat. He didn't say a word, only glared at the back of Kurt's head as the class began.

* * *

It was only the first day of school, and Adam Harvey was already doing research for his computer class. But he was no stranger to the library, which was basically another home to him. He had spent the majority of his free time in the library last year, reading all he could read and using the room as an escape from school and his wing.

Adam was thin, with a mop of brown hair and a splash of light freckles on his cheekbones, which were usually covered up by the thick frames of his glasses; his eyes were a dull brown. He barely filled his uniform like most guys did, and he always found himself tightening his belt to keep his slacks up.

He waved briefly to the librarian as he passed into the room, making his way into the maze of shelves. Okay, so he didn't really need to do research for his class; he just liked going into the library. He was skipping class on the first day, and he honestly didn't care; he was already first in the senior class, and the last time he checked, the boy who was second wasn't posing any threat to him.

So he was at the top of the senior class, all by himself.

Adam found himself in the back of the library, standing in front of a large shelf that was coated with dust. Most of the books on this shelf were leatherbound and older than the rest of the books in the room. Reaching on his tip toes, he pulled a book down and blew the dust off the cover.

He found a table near him and plopped down, reveling in the silence. He could hardly get his much silence in his wing. Flipping open the cover, he set his phone out on the table and began to read.

"Long time, no see."

Adam looked up from the book in front of him to see a boy standing by his table. Simon Dougray braced his hands against the table and a lock of black hair fell in front of his piercing eyes. His grin was wide and contagious enough to make Adam duck his head to a hide a smile himself.

"Simon," he sighed, shutting his book, "I don't see why you need to say that. I spent the entire summer with you at your house. I think I've seen you a lot."

"I know. I just wanted an excuse to say it," Simon said. He pulled out the next empty chair and plopped down, kicking his feet up on the table. He reached up and loosened his tie, smiling. "So, what book are you murdering now?"

Adam raised an eyebrow. "Murdering?"

"You read books so fast, you might as well be killing them," he explained with a shrug. He leaned over to catch a glimpse of the cover and nodded to himself. "How many books did you read over the summer?"

"A lot," Adam mumbled in reply. "I can't really remember how many."

Simon chuckled. "I do remember that you made many trips to the library."

He jabbed him in the ribs. "Is there anything wrong with that?" he asked pointedly.

"None at all." Simon flashed him a smile.

Adam rolled his eyes and leaned his elbows against the table.

Over the course of the three-month summer, he had resided in the Dougray mansion in Pennsylvania, far from his birth home of North Dakota. He called the guest room as his own; the bookshelf in the room was filled with a good amount of his books, and half the closet was filled with his own clothes.

Amongst Simon's other brothers, he was easily accepted. In the mornings, he was the only one in the house awake; Simon's parents left early in the morning to head off to work and he was the next one to get up. By the time noon rolled around, he had breakfast on the table for Simon and his brothers. In the afternoons, he had refereed soccer games between them and called fouls, cautious of any face kicks that could break his glasses. And in the evenings, he laid out in the grass as the brothers played tackle football and he occasionally got in the way of play, which resulted in some sort of injury.

Simon's parents also took a liking to him. He and Simon's mother traded recipes in the kitchen, and more often than not, he helped Simon's father with something technology related, whether it be fixing a laptop or fixing the wiring in the light box. He felt more at home with them than he did in his own home.

And of course, the only reason he spent so much time with Simon was that his parents didn't accept him. To his parents, he lived an "offensive lifestyle", and by that, they meant that he was gay. And so what if he was gay? It didn't affect his parents in any way at all. It was his life, and he should be able to live it the way he wanted to.

But they still didn't want him around, and so he found refuge in Simon and his family, who didn't really care about his sexuality. That was all Adam could ever ask for.

"So, what are you doing here?" Adam asked finally.

"I'm the library aide for first period," Simon answered with a grin. He plopped down in the chair across the table from Adam and kicked his feet up onto the table.

Adam raised an eyebrow. "Get your feet off the table."

"Why? I'm an aide," Simon said cheekily. "Plus, we're in the back of the library. The librarian can't see us."

"You're a terrible aide," Adam muttered, pushing his book away. "And you know, I can't read around you. You distract me too much."

Simon slid his feet off the table and leaned forward. "Do I?"

"Stop." The other boy got to his feet and tucked the book under his arm.

As soon as Adam got up, Simon slid out of his chair and moved around the table. He followed Adam between two sets of shelves, close behind. The hairs on the back of Adam's neck rose a little and he whipped around, only for Simon to bump into him. He felt Simon's hands grasp his waist to keep steady and he sucked in a breath.

"Okay, stop being so touchy," Adam told him, stepping away.

Simon ran a hand through his hair, bewildered. "I wasn't being touchy. I was saving my life. If I'd fallen just now, I probably would've died."

"I'm sure." Adam stuffed the book back on the shelf where he'd picked it up early. "I'm going to go back to class. I'll see you in choir."

Simon rolled his eyes, but nodded and watched as Adam weaved through the bookshelves and out of the library.

* * *

"Boys! Will you please be quiet?" the professor snapped. "I know you're both seniors, but there is no reason to be talking while I'm teaching."

Cody Michaels snapped straight up in his seat and folded his hands on his desk. "Yes, ma'am. Sorry."

The professor, a portly woman with black hair, sighed and turned around to finish writing notes on the white board.

Cody let out a petite sigh and leaned back in his chair. He turned around to face the lanky redhead behind him, Thomas Reid. Thomas brushed flaming hair from his eyes and chuckled.

"It's not funny," Cody hissed. "I don't want to get on the teacher's bad side, not on the first day."

"What about the second day?" Thomas quipped, grinning.

Cody rolled his eyes and angled his body to face his friend. He and Thomas had almost identical schedules, starting with Calculus first period, where they were now, which was second period in European history, and third period with the Warblers. The only class they didn't have together was fourth period; while Cody had cooking, Thomas took creative writing.

The two boys had reveled in having most of their classes together, even though they'd hung out most of the summer. They were completely attached at the hip, friends since freshman year. Even though they contrasted greatly, with Cody being a foot shorter than Thomas, they knew each other better than anyone else.

But being together so much during the school day was probably going to pose a problem, Cody realized, as he found himself getting distracted with Thomas as he fit a pencil between his upper lip and his nose. He stifled a laugh, but was quickly caught.

"Boys!" the professor snapped for the second time. She moved toward them and loomed over their desks. "I've already warned you once about talking while I'm trying to teach. If you don't want to sit around and learn about Europe and its history, I suggest you take another course."

Cody found it hard to swallow. "No, ma'am. We're fine."

"It doesn't seem that way," the professor growled. "I'll give you one more chance. If I see you two talking at all during the rest of the class period, I'm moving you to opposite sides of the room."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "That's not very nice."

"Thomas!" Cody squeaked.

"Well, it'll be nice for me. It's only the first day and I'm already losing my voice because of you two." The professor glared at each of them before stalking back to her position at the front of the room.

Cody slumped back into his seat, so much that he almost fell onto the floor. He whipped back to face Thomas. "I swear, if you get us in trouble one more time—"

"Mr. Michaels."

Cody squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the top of his chair until his knuckles turned white. Tentatively, he turned around to see the professor once again staring murderously at him from the board.

Without having to say a word, both Cody and Thomas knew what she meant. They packed up their things and chose empty seats on either side of the room, with the entire class watching. Thomas' face just about matched his hair, and Cody hid his in his books. They sat down without another word.

Pleased, the professor turned around and continued to scribble on the board.

Almost a moment later, Cody felt his phone buzz in the pocket of his slacks. He whipped it out, hiding it in his lap, and glanced at the new message.

_She's able to keep us apart physically, but she can't take our phones up. –Thomas_

Grinning from ear to ear, Cody glanced across the room at his friend, who was wearing the same smile.

* * *

As soon as the bell rang, Kurt collected his things and left the classroom. He'd just finished with US economics, his second period class, and finally, the tension left his shoulders. After sitting in front of Will Fitzroy the entire hour and a half of French, he hadn't been able to relax. Every time he saw someone who had blonde hair, his heart misfired and he hoped Will wouldn't have another class with him. French and choir were enough.

But now, it was lunch. The lunch periods related to what the students had third period. There were four different lunches, seeing as the entire student body couldn't fit into the cafeteria all at once. All the arts classes third period were chosen to have the first lunch, and seeing as choir was a fine art class, Kurt was able to go straight to lunch.

When he entered the dining hall, the room was as grand as he remembered it: high ceilings, large tables, and low lighting. He found the table he'd sat at the year before and pulled out a chair, keeping an eye on the door. Finally, he stood up instinctively when he saw Blaine come in with the rest of the boys.

Without having to wave his hands in the air, Kurt caught the other boy's attention. Blaine let a smile slip onto his face and he crossed the room to the table.

But what surprised Kurt was the tight hug he received from Blaine. It was warm, with Blaine's fingers slightly curling against Kurt's back. Kurt felt his heart jump, and then Blaine's arms were back at his sides and he looked happily at Kurt.

"So how was class?" Blaine asked. He pulled out a chair and tossed his bag on the table.

Kurt blinked, still a little shaken. "I-it was fine."

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay." Kurt sat down as well. "But I have bad news."

Blaine dropped his hands to the table and looked at him, concerned. "What's wrong?"

"I have French with Satan."

Blaine's head tilted to one side in confusion. "I'm pretty sure Satan isn't in human form…"

"Will. I have French with Will."

At the mention of the blond boy's name, Blaine grimaced. "Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

Kurt pursed his lips. When he'd transferred in the middle of the semester, he'd come across a bit of the past. After hearing it from a boy's loose lips, he'd found out that Blaine and Will Fitzroy had dated previously and were broken up now, but still harbored hatred towards each other. Everything pieced itself together for Kurt, as he previously had wondered why the two boys had avoided talking to each other and when they did have to talk, called each other names.

Thankfully, Blaine and Will hadn't seen each other at all so far, so hopefully, things would turn out okay.

Hopefully.

"Hey, guys," David said as he approached the lunch table, tray in hand. He plopped down in the chair next to Blaine and slung his bag on the table. "It looks like we've all survived the first half of the last first day of school."

"You need to learn how to reword your sentences," Wes told him as he followed. He chose the seat next to Kurt and set his tray down. He looked at Blaine. "I think you'll be needing this." He dropped a white flyer down in front of Blaine.

Blaine stared at him, then took the paper and scanned over it. Kurt looked over his shoulder at it and found that it was an information sheet about Precursor elections.

"Precursor elections?" he questioned. "I didn't know you had to be elected. I thought Markus just chose."

Wes laughed. "Yeah, right. Like Markus would ever choose. I think the last time he did that was our freshman year, and—"

"And he picked this guy named Mark," Blaine finished, setting the paper down. "He was a complete suck-up. Like, more than I can even describe. He went around, poking in everyone's business."

"And there was that one time when he locked out Wes for being outside twenty-six seconds after curfew," Cody said. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and he looked at Wes. "Do you remember that? I think you were outside in the parking lot—"

Wes rolled his eyes and looked at Kurt across the table. "I was busy sticking nails in Mark's car tires. I came back to the doors and they were locked and that jackass was standing on the other side of them, looking all smug about it."

"But I let him in through our room window, so he didn't have to sleep outside," David chipped in.

"If I didn't anything against Mark in the beginning, him locking me out made me definitely have something against him." Wes stuffed a forkful of spaghetti in his mouth and chewed.

Kurt nodded and stirred his soup. "So, is this Precursor election like something they would have at McKinley? Like elections for class president?"

"Pretty much," Blaine confirmed. "You just have to tell Markus you want your name on the ballot and he puts it on there."

"What happens if too many people apply for one wing?"

Thomas snorted and nearly sprayed water from his nose. "Sorry, but _no one _applies for Precursor."

Kurt blinked, confused. He looked to Blaine. "Why not? I thought being a Precursor is like royalty compared to everyone else."

"It is, but you have to take into consideration that you're in charge of fifty to sixty boys, all aging from fourteen to nineteen," Blaine answered. He was staring at the paper. "If you don't know how to handle boys, then you're in major trouble."

"Blaine knows how to handle boys," Wes said, biting his lip to hold back a grin. Blaine flushed bright pink and Wes continued, "Okay, sorry, that was completely inappropriate."

Blaine narrowed his eyes and let out a long breath. "I swear, the first thing I'm doing to you when I get elected is locking you outside, just like Mark did."

"How do you know you're going to get elected?" he asked.

"Basically no one wants their name on the ballot, genius. That's what we've been talking about," Blaine said. "As far as I know, I'm the only one who wants to."

Thomas nodded. "It's too much of a responsibility. I mean, you're in charge over the entire wing. You get to make the rules about curfew, just as long as Markus approves of them, and you're the one to talk with the other Precursors if there's something going on. Like the wing war last year. Diego had to meet with Simon plenty of times about it."

"Speaking of Simon, he's going to try for Precursor again, right?" Kurt asked.

Wes shrugged. "Probably. Oh gosh, just think of what would happen if Will decided to run for Precursor…"

He was face with glares from every boy at the table, and he gave shrug. "What? It could happen."

"Don't jinx it. We don't want him as Precursor," Blaine mumbled, picking at his nail.

The table fell into a small bout of silence, and Kurt got up to get his lunch once the line died down. Without realizing, he passed the South table—the usual table where most of the boys in South sat—and immediately, everyone hushed. He had half a mind to glance back at them, but he kept walking.

For some reason, he had a feeling that South would be harsher this year. They struck and teased the North wing a lot the year before, what with the small wing war. There had always been something going on between the two wings, and Kurt hoped things wouldn't get worse as this current year went on.

He stepped into the line and took a tray, scanning the dishes in front of him. Then he felt a tap on the shoulder and he turned around. The boy who had tapped his shoulder was short—which was saying something, since Kurt himself wasn't that tall—with a mop of brown hair and shining brown eyes. He seemed to not fill out his uniform, as the sleeves of his blazer extended past his wrists.

"Hi," Kurt said feebly.

"Hi," the boy said shyly. His voice was higher than Kurt's, which also said something, and he didn't seem to want to make eye contact.

Kurt wrinkled his nose and chuckled awkwardly. "Why'd you tap me on the shoulder?"

"Well, I'm a freshman," the boy said. He glanced over his shoulder, as if scared by something, then turned back around and took a small tray of macaroni off the belt, placing it on his tray. "And I'm not entirely sure how this school works."

Kurt nodded and moved down the line, searching for food that caught his eye. "Well, it's not that hard to figure it out. I'm Kurt, by the way. Kurt Hummel."

"Anthony Hart," the boy said quietly. "Wait, are you _the _Kurt Hummel?"

"What?" He raised his eyebrows.

The boy licked his lips, looking fearful. "I mean, I've heard a lot about you."

"When?" he asked.

"From the other boys in the North wing," Anthony answered. He grabbed a bottle of water from a cooler and set it on his tray with the pasta. "They talk about you a lot."

Kurt stared at him for a moment. "Do you know the boys' names?"

"I think one of them was David," he said. He pinched his lip between his teeth. "And Wesley? I think…"

Kurt let out a long sigh and smiled loosely. "I know Wes and David," he said. After a moment, he looked at Anthony and said, "Do you want to sit with us at lunch?"

Anthony's face lit up, like he'd never been offered a seat at a lunch table. "Absolutely!"

Kurt smiled and reached the end of the line, with a few pieces of fruit and a salad on his tray. He grabbed a bottle of water and waited for Anthony to collect his lunch. Kurt led the way through the maze of tables, but as they passed the South table, there was a yelp, followed by a clatter.

Whipping around, Kurt saw Anthony laying the floor with macaroni covering his face. The food on his tray was covering his face and his eyes looked shiny. Kurt immediately set his tray down on a nearby table and stooped to help Anthony up.

Blaine crossed the dining hall within seconds, with the others on his tail. As Kurt helped Anthony stand up, Blaine glanced at the South table, trying to avoid making eye contact with Will Fitzroy, who was staring straight at him.

"What happened?" Kurt asked Anthony quietly.

"Someone tripped me," Anthony whimpered; he sounded almost ready to cry.

Kurt glanced up at the South table, ignoring the smirk he got from Will. "Who tripped him?"

Suddenly, one of the boys at the table broke into a fit of laughter, covering his face with his hands. He had jet black hair and was no taller than Anthony. He was sandwiched in between Simon and another boy.

"Ian," one of them whined, "tripping people isn't funny."

The boy with black hair, Ian, stifled his laughter and dropped his hands to the table. "I think it's absolutely hilarious."

With a sigh, Simon stood up and grabbed Ian by the back of his blazer. He looked at Kurt and made a 'come here' gesture. When Kurt stepped forward, he shook his head. "The other kid, not you," he said shortly.

Kurt wrinkled his nose, but let Anthony step forward. He watched as Simon led the laughing boy and the food-covered boy from the dining hall without another word. Kurt picked up Anthony's tray and what was left of his food and set it down on a table.

"So that was interesting," Blaine sighed, still staring curiously at the door.

"Very," Kurt murmured. He collected his own tray and headed back to their usual table; he could feel the entire South table watching them as they left.

Wes glanced over his shoulder at the door. "Who was that kid you were walking with, anyway, Kurt?"

Kurt opened his water bottle and took a sip. "Some freshman named Anthony. He said he knew you and David."

"Oh, right. Anthony," David said in a moment of remembrance. "We saw him this morning after first period and we gave him directions. He got lost on the way to second period."

"Huh."

With that, the boys finished up their lunch. Cody and Thomas showed up in the last few minutes of the period and ended up scarfing down their meal, all while trying to explain to everyone why they were late.

Wes and David shot straw wrappers at each other across the table, and for a moment, Blaine reached under the table to take Kurt's hand. Kurt kicked his ankle in response, which made Blaine wince.

"Oh, come on, guys," David whined. "Can you at least wait a day before being cute and adorable? It's making me sick."

Kurt felt his face grow warm and he quickly snatched his hand from Blaine's, folding both of them on the table. Blaine simply rolled his eyes and said, "We've been dating for months. I thought you'd be used to something as simple as PDA."

Wes made a gagging sound and David drew a line across his throat and mockingly stuck his tongue out his mouth.

"Okay," Kurt said, standing up, "I think lunch is over."

As if on cue, the bell overhead rang, and Kurt slung his bag over his shoulder, ready to leave.

* * *

The choir room was completely and utterly clean, which was unusual, considering its typical state was a mess of papers. But now, the entire room was straightened and cleaned and the only papers in the room were in a small stack on the director's desk. Every speck of wood was polished and gleamed in the sun that filtered through the windows.

Ms. Lovett, the director for the Warblers, sat at her desk, flipping through a music folder. She glanced up as Kurt and Blaine came into the room, followed by Wes and the others.

Upon seeing Kurt, Lovett stood and pushed away from the desk. She welcomed him with open arms and pulled him into what was probably supposed to be a warm embrace, but what was actually really awkward. All Kurt could do was stand there with his hands at his sides.

"It's so good to see you, Kurt!" Lovett said somewhat cheerfully, patting his back.

Frozen, Kurt glanced at his friends, who were all shrugging as if to say _see ya, wouldn't want to be ya! _

"It's nice to see you, too, Ms. Lovett," he said shortly.

At the end of last year, Ms. Lovett was exceptionally nice to Kurt, though it was probably because of his voice. His range extended as low as Will's—which Kurt always thought sounded similar to Josh Turner's voice—and floated as high as an opera singer's. To Lovett, Kurt was nearly the best singer in the choir—other than Blaine, Will, and James, of course.

The four boys were Lovett's cabinet, so to speak. They were unanimously the best singers in the choir: Kurt's range was unheard of; everyone seemed to like Blaine's incredible style; no one liked Will as a person and instead favored his voice, which had an insane energy that made people stop and listen; and James had a voice that would make anyone listen, but he hardly ever used it. When he did, though, everyone listened.

"How was your summer?" Lovett asked Kurt quietly to get his attention.

"It was fine," Kurt stammered. He wasn't used to this kind of isolation by her; she usually stood clear of making personal connections with her students, or pulling them aside to talk to them unless they had done something wrong.

Lovett nodded; she patted Kurt's shoulder and he could feel her hard rings through the fabric of his blazer. "That's good, that's good."

Kurt took a deep breath and, from the corner of his eye, watched Blaine and the others settle in, talking and smiling. His gaze found the door and he watched several boys flood in: some of the boys were easily freshman, who glanced around fearfully; there were a few sophomores and juniors, though not many; Kurt immediately dropped his eyes when Will and Carson entered the room, a figure with dark hair following insanely close behind them.

"…and maybe there will be a solo in it for you," Lovett was saying with a slight glimmer in her eye.

Kurt nodded abruptly. "Right, okay."

"You haven't been listening to me the past few minutes, have you?" she guessed dully.

"Nope."

She sighed and pushed his shoulder lightly. "Go sit down, honey."

Kurt did so with a nod, and he weaved around his classmates to squeeze between Blaine and Wes. He settled back and took a deep breath.

"What did she talk to you about?" Blaine whispered in his ear.

Kurt shrugged. "I wasn't paying attention."

The other boy chuckled under his breath.

Lovett clapped her hands twice with a smile on her face to get everyone's attention. Her hair was still in that dark, bushy cloud on her head like last year, and rings adorned her fingers, glittering in the sun that came in through the windows. She smiled and scanned the room.

"Well, good afternoon, boys!" she said cheerfully. "I hope you all had a wonderful summer. I'm pleased to see some familiar faces, and some new ones." She mumbled something about taking attendance and she plopped down in her chair, rummaging on her desk for a sheet of paper.

Kurt let out a long breath and drummed his fingers on his knees. His lips had been turned up in a smile, but they fell flat when he saw Will sitting across the room from him. It was almost like last year, with the blonde sitting in the same spot on the same couch with the same posture and the same cat eye glare that gave an _I don't care _appearance.

Beside him sat Carson White, the blonde haired boy that never left Will's side. He seemed to have bulked up over the summer, his arms more muscular underneath his blazer; his skin had a deep tan, most likely from being outside constantly. Even though much had changed, his eyes were still an icy blue, still cold.

Finally, Kurt's gaze fell on James, who sat on the other side of Will. James Montgomery was still as thin as a rail, and Kurt cursed himself inwardly for noticing that first thing. Surely he could've spotted his dark hair or his sapphire eyes first, or his naturally black hair.

James was troubled. He was a conflicted young man who, last year, had constantly battled a type of eating disorder. He never ate dinner with the boys in his wing, and when he did, he would put food in his mouth, but either spit it out in his napkin or throw it up a few hours later, when he was alone. On some days, he dealt with mood swings and irritableness as a result of malnutrition.

And somewhere along the way, he developed an addiction to cutting. At first, he had tried to hide it, to conceal it with sweaters and band aids and excuses, but people found out. At that point, he didn't care what people thought of him anymore. He only cared about the affections of one person: Kurt.

Kurt was the object of James' love—or obsession, as it would be a better description of what was happening between the two boys. James had instantly fallen for Kurt, for a reason unknown, and was drawn to the singer. He found himself adoring Kurt, tripping over his own feet to try to get Kurt to look at him for even half a second.

He was utterly lovesick with Kurt Hummel, and there was nothing either boy could do about it.

"I hope you're all pleased to be back," Ms. Lovett said, breaking Kurt from his reverie. "This year will be filled with plenty of singing opportunities, of course. And to the freshmen, I hope you survive." When three of the boys' eyes widened, she chuckled. "Kidding, kidding."

Suddenly, the choir doors opened and Simon appeared, his dark hair combed and his emerald eyes piercing. Before he walked into the room, he let two small boys go ahead of him, the two boys that had caused a conflict in the dining hall at lunch.

Lovett frowned, clearly displeased with Simon's tardiness. "Mr. Dougray, would you please explain why you're late?"

He shrugged his shoulders and sat down on the couch in the open spot by Carson. "I was taking care of things with Dean Markus."

"What kind of things?" Lovett asked curiously as she eyed the two boys, Anthony and Ian, who stood awkwardly at the front of the room. "You can sit down, boys. You don't have to wait for anyone to tell you."

The two boys ducked their heads, almost in unison, and glanced at the rest of the boys in the room. Kurt immediately waved his hand toward Anthony and made a spot between he and Blaine. Anthony tentatively sat between them, seeming to sink into the couch cushions.

In response, Simon waved over Ian and welcomed him with the rest of the boys from South.

"Anyway," Lovett huffed, "we're going to start today's class by playing a name game."

Instantly, the room erupted in groans of disappointment. Lovett rolled her eyes and her rings clinked together on her fingers.

"Oh, why not? It's the first day of class and we have new students," she said over their moans of protest. "We might as well learn the names of the boys we'll be spending the rest of the year with. So stop whining. Dougray, we're starting with you."

Simon raised an eyebrow at her. "What do you want me to say?"

"Well, your name, for starters," Wes chimed in smugly.

"Quit it, Wes," Simon snapped at him.

"Boys," Lovett warned. She glanced back at Simon. "Just say your name, of course, and what grade you're in. Also, since this is a music class, tell us a musical fact about yourself, whether it be that you play another instrument or what your favorite song is."

Simon ran a hand through his hair. "My name is Simon, and—"

"Up," Lovett commanded, flicking a wrist at him.

Grudgingly, he stood up and rubbed the back of his head. "My name is Simon, and I'm a senior. A musical fact about myself is that I can sing." He gave Lovett a smirk and plopped back down in his seat.

Lovett rolled her eyes again, but let it slide. She moved to sit at her desk. "Pick someone else."

"Adam," Simon said without missing a beat. He stared across the room at the boy with the glasses, who'd just joined the choir the year before.

Adam stood up and introduced himself, giving an interesting fact—one that wasn't "I can sing"—and he chose another person. The cycle continued around the room, and Will was finally chosen. He slowly stood.

"My name is Will, I'm a senior, and I can sing," he said flatly. After receiving a look from Lovett, he added, "In French."

When he sat down, he prodded James in the side, which completely startled the dark haired boy and made him jump. With wide, blue eyes, James shakily stood, and Kurt could finally see how thin he was. His uniform hung on his thin frame, his belt fastened to the last loop. His shirt, which was the same size as last year, swallowed him, and his blazer didn't flatter him at all.

James folded his pale hands together; his fingers were long and slim, a pianist's fingers, but they were bony and dry. He seemed to lick his lips after every few words he said, and he blinked his sapphire eyes every time a word came out of his mouth.

"My name is James," he said slowly, and to Kurt, his voice was softer, more delicate, "and I'm a senior, and I play the piano." He carefully sat down, as if sitting down roughly would break his bones. Then he looked at Kurt, but before he said anything, Kurt stood up.

Kurt clapped his hands together and said, almost anxiously, "My name is Kurt, I'm a senior, and I'm addicted to The Sound of Music."

With that, he sat back down. Lovett lifted her head as she finished reading a packet of papers. She got to her feet, clapping her hands together.

"Okay," she said somewhat cheerfully, "we're going to start with—"

But then, in the middle of her sentence, a loud crash shook the room and a cloud of filmy dust filled the air. Lovett let out a shriek and threw her arms over head, and Kurt heard someone—probably Adam or Cody—yelled. More shouting filled the room, followed by a dull _thump. _Clouds of white powder, dust, and chalk filled the air.

"That really hurt!" someone whimpered.

Then, "Well, it was your idea."

Kurt waved his hand in front of his face to clear the dust, coughing. He felt Blaine grasp his shoulder, and he looked at the other boy. Blaine had his eyes shut, trying to keep the dust away.

"Why do I have a feeling I've been through this before?" Ms. Lovett shouted over the shouts. "Alright, quiet!"

Instantly, everyone stopped shouting and yelling, and only coughing filled the room. Lovett waved her hands through the air to get rid of the dust in her face, and she let out a scream of frustration.

"Not _again_!" she shrieked. "Why is it always you two?"

After some of the dust had cleared, Kurt was able to see who she was talking to: two boys were sprawled out on her desk. Actually, one of them missed the desk and was flat on his back on the floor. The other one was lying across her desk, rubbing his head. Kurt rolled his eyes, and as he did so, most of the room groaned.

"Dex," Wes whined. "What do you and Leo have against the Warblers, anyway? Do you guys like tormenting us?"

Leo and Dex were two boys with IQs far higher than anyone at Dalton. They appeared to still be in middle school, while in reality, they were now juniors. Last year, they'd taken senior classes, and Kurt didn't know why they were still here; they should've probably been enrolled in a university or something, seeing as their IQs were off the charts.

Last year, the two boys had caused pains for Kurt and the rest of the Warblers, namely for busting through the ceiling. Markus had moved the Warblers to the auditorium for a few weeks while the ceiling was being repaired.

Like now.

Leo, who was sprawled on the desk, sat up and rubbed his head. His face was covered in chalky white dust and his uniform looked almost gray. Dex propped himself on his elbows and glanced around the room, his eyes going wide and glassy when he saw Lovett looming over him.

"Up!" she commanded, and both boys sprung to their feet. Leo fell off the desk before standing up and he straightened his tie.

Lovett roughly took the boys by the backs of their uniform jackets and glared at the rest of the choir. "Don't just stand there and look at me with your mouths open. Get out in the hall and keep quiet while I take these two to the front office."

With that, she yanked the two boys out of the room and into the hallway, disappearing.

Blaine coughed weakly into his hand and broke the silence. "Well, that was a big dose of déjà vu, wasn't it?"

* * *

_In the next chapter: the boys at Dalton get used to getting back to school again._


	2. Is the Cake A Lie or Not?

Hello, readers.

I apologize for making you wait for this chapter. It's been a busy time for me, but I've been writing the next few chapters of this story.

As for BtS, sorry for the lack of updates. Thanks for sticking through with me!

Reviews and comments would be lovely!

* * *

**Is the Cake A Lie or Not?**

* * *

**When there is cake, there is hope. And there is always cake. - Dean Koontz, _Life Expectancy_**

* * *

"I can't deal with this. I seriously can't deal with this," Kurt said adamantly. He pushed his laptop away from him and leaned back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair.

Blaine looked up at him from his position on his bed. He had a book open in front of him, still tucked in his pajamas. "Kurt, chill out. You don't have to start filling college applications already. It's only the beginning of September."

Kurt rolled his eyes and spun his chair around. "Says the guy who's applying to a regular college."

"You know I want to apply to NYADA, just like you," Blaine said patiently. "But I'd rather get some education beforehand. I'd like to go into business, maybe even law. If I have time, I'll take up music."

Kurt let out a short, huffy sigh.

It was only the second week of the new school year, and Kurt was already stressing about college applications. Now that he was a senior, he had to start filling out applications and sending them in and waiting anxiously for some kind of reply. He had started to think about where he wanted to apply a few months ago, doing his research on several different universities around the country.

And so far, his top choice was NYADA, a small music university in New York that specialized in the visual arts, as well as singing. It was one of the most prestigious music academies in the country, alongside Julliard and a few other places. It was also where Rachel Berry, one of Kurt's best friends who went to McKinley High, was aiming to go. She was sure to make it, but Kurt wasn't so confident in himself.

A month ago, he had started receiving calls from Mercedes, Quinn, and Artie about colleges. Mercedes wanted to go somewhere in California, hoping to make it big as a singer and a pop artist. Quinn was hoping to stay home, in Ohio, wanting to attend med school to hopefully become a nurse. It wasn't something Kurt had seen her doing, but after giving it a few minutes of thought, it seemed suited to her. Artie was aiming for Ivy League schools, as he had a high enough IQ to do so. Though Kurt was jealous that Artie could most likely get into any Ivy League school he wanted, he was glad he didn't have to pay over two-hundred dollars to simply apply.

Blaine, on the other hand, had another plan, something Kurt personally didn't like. Blaine's first option was to apply to Ohio State University to major in business, which was the part Kurt didn't approve of. But Blaine's second option was applying for a school in New York, not NYADA, and that made Kurt a little happier.

Kurt wanted to leave high school with Blaine; he was in love with the other boy, oh god, was he in love with him. He wanted to stay with Blaine for as long as possible and to him, the first step in that plan was to go to college together, or at least stay in constant contact throughout the course of college. His heart had sunk a little when Blaine had told him he didn't really want to apply to NYADA, but it rose a little when Blaine mentioned applying to somewhere in New York.

"Anyways," Blaine said, interrupting Kurt's reverie, "we should probably get ready for class. First period starts in forty-five minutes."

Kurt nodded and grimly closed his laptop. His fingers itched to get back to typing and searching, but he tucked his hands in his lap and turned his back to his desk. He got up from his chair and glanced in the mirror on the wall, combing his fingers through his hair.

"Can I get the shower first?" Blaine asked, already inching towards the bathroom door.

Kurt snatched his change of clothes from the dresser and raced him to the door. "Nope," he said, a little winded. "You always use up all the hot water when you shower."

Blaine rolled his eyes, but let Kurt get to the bathroom first. "Whatever you think is best."

"Thank you," Kurt said promptly, and he disappeared into the bathroom.

* * *

"Carson, didn't you hear me? I said _blue_."

"I thought you said _not _blue!"

Will Fitzroy covered his face with his hands. He stood in the doorway of the bathroom he shared with his friend. Right now, Carson had a blue toothbrush in his hand, in the middle of brushing his teeth, with dribbles of toothpaste slowly making their way down his chin.

"My toothbrush is blue," Will repeated, taking a step forward. "Yours is the other one."

Carson sighed and yanked the brush out of his mouth. "I'll stop at the drug store after class and get new ones."

Will let out a sigh, but laughed. "It's fine. I'll take care of it later."

The two blonds, friends since freshman year, shared a room together in the South wing for their final year at Dalton. It was bigger than the one they'd shared last year, with more closet space and a bigger window. They had both moved in and set up a few days before the new term started, so it felt like home by the time they started class.

Will slept in the bed on the farthest side of the room, closest to the window, and Carson slept closer to the door. They split the closet in half, Will's clothes on the left and Carson's on the right. Will had the left half of the bathroom, and Carson had the right. Everything was right and left with them.

Slowly, the two boys finished in the bathroom and dressed in navy slacks, dress shoes, a button down, and the signature Dalton blazer. Will almost felt a sense of security, wearing this blazer. He'd gone four years wearing it and he wouldn't have the chance to wear it next year. The thought made a lump form in his throat and he shook his head, turning around to face his friend.

Carson had plugged in his earphones as he dug in his bag for something, so Will kept his mouth shut. He collected his messenger bag from where it hung from the back of the desk chair and ran his hand through his platinum blond hair. Crossing the room, he went to his night table, pulling open the top drawer.

A glint of light winked at him and he delicately pulled the mirror from the drawer. His mirror was broken into hundreds of pieces, all glued back together on a firm base, with a ribbon tied to the top to hang it. It was a mirror that brought back a flood of memories, memories Will didn't want. He quickly looked back at his jagged reflection, his greenish eyes staring back at him, then placed the mirror back in the drawer; he grabbed the headphones that were right under the mirror and he bumped the drawer shut with his hip.

Approaching Carson, Will yanked out his friend's earphone. "Hey, I'm going to check on James. I'll meet you out in the hallway."

Carson simply nodded, not saying a word.

Will left the room and made a beeline to the room directly across the hallway. Raising his fist to knock, Will paused. Behind the door, he heard faint strums of music. Licking his lips, Will was caught off guard for a moment. He listened to the muffled sounds of a piano melody being tapped out, the plastic of the keyboard keys sounding faintly in the music. Finally, he knocked.

The music cut off, jagged and sharp, and footsteps thudded as James rushed to the door. The door flew open, James on the other side.

"Oh. Hello, Will," James said quietly, blinking. His eyes were wide and blue, as blue as a sapphire stone. Over the summer, instead of getting tanner, his skin almost got paler, now extremely white with no color at all. His thick, ashy hair fell a little in his eyes, a curl hanging against his forehead. Will had always associated him with a form of art called color splash—everything was black and white, with one bold introduction of color.

"Hey, James," Will replied, shifting uneasily. "Carson and I are about ready to get to class. Are you coming?"

James nodded, but the motion was jittery, shaky. "Yeah, sure. Let me get my things and I'll be out in a few minutes."

Without waiting for Will to reply, James shut the door in his face and leaned back against it. He faced a dark room, nothing illuminating it. There were no lamps, no glow of electronics, to cast a shadow on anything. The only pinprick of light came from the windows, which had been barred with a set of thick, canvas curtains that didn't match the room at all whatsoever.

The only bed in the room was torn up, with sheets and a comforter thrashed and knotted about as a result of nightmares and insomnia. There were supposed to be two beds, but the frame for the other had been dismantled and the pieces leaned eerily against the back wall, near the windows. A desk was hidden in the corner, overflowing with books and lonely piles of sheet music that hadn't been played yet.

A bureau leaned against the wall directly across from James's dismantled bed, but some of the drawers had nothing in them while others had too much. T-shirts, socks, and other flimsy pieces of clothing seeped out from some of the drawers. The top of the dresser was a mess, displaying a battle ground of papers, books, and bits of clothing.

The bathroom was another story, another battle field. The only things on the vanity were a box of tissues, a toothbrush, and half a tube of toothpaste. Everything else, like medication and allergy pills, was stuffed under the counter. In the shower were an empty bottle of shampoo and half a bottle of conditioner. By the hair products was a rusty shaving razor, and red spots faintly colored the white bottom of the shower.

In the middle of the room was a beaten up keyboard. A small plastic stand was attached to it so music could be seen, but half of it was broken off, so some of the music would flop over. It was worn and had spots of red on the stark, white keys.

Everything was black and white, with a splash of color.

James trudged back to the keyboard and plopped down on the floor in front of it. He jammed his headphones over his ears and started playing again. He knew he wouldn't be out in a few minutes to meet his friends. He'd probably stay here for another ten, fifteen, twenty minutes, playing. In fact, he'd been playing almost all night, not having changed out of his pajamas yet; he wore a pair of tattered sweatpants and an old t-shirt.

As his fingers smoothly glided across the keys, bringing a harmonious sound to his ears through the headphones, he thought he heard another knock on the door, but instead of getting up and answering it, he shut his tired eyes. Almost on autopilot, his fingers danced across the keys, playing to an invisible audience.

* * *

"So, as a result of _some ignorant people," _Ms. Lovett announced, standing in front of the choir room doors, "we're in the auditorium. _Again_. Just like last year."

Kurt rolled his eyes, standing between Wes and Blaine, with David on the other side of Wes.

At the start of third period, everyone was crowded around the choir room, having just finished lunch. Lovett had a disapproving look on her face. The day school had started, she'd had to send Leo and Dex, two students at Dalton, to the Dean's office. Like the year before, the redhead and the blond had been crawling through the ventilation system and had accidentally fallen through the weak ceiling, creating a giant hole. The hole was currently under construction and would take a week or two to plaster up, just like last year.

As of now, the Dean was relocating the Warblers to rehearse in the auditorium until the hole was fixed completely. Not that any of them had a problem with it, of course. The auditorium was ten times better than the choir room: it had better acoustics and a large grand piano.

"So, off to the auditorium we go," Lovett said and clapped her hands together. She pushed through the group of boys before stopping abruptly. "Actually, I need to get the key to the auditorium from the Dean. Can someone be a brave soul and get it for me?"

James raised his hand immediately and was already moving down the hall away from them. "I'm an office aide. I'll get it."

Lovett snapped her fingers in objection. "Hummel, go with him. We'll meet you down there."

Kurt froze where he stood and he felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. Beside him, Blaine stiffed and started to open his mouth to protest, but Kurt nudged him reassuringly. Kurt nodded to Lovett and broke off from the group of boys, joining the dark haired boy.

As the rest of the choir walked away, Kurt could feel Carson and Will glaring at him.

When the hallway was empty, James coughed, folding his thin arms over his chest. "Hello, Kurt."

"James," Kurt said stiffly. He felt almost suffocated by James's presence, even though they were standing a few feet apart in an open hallway. "How was your summer?"

"I spent every moment of it in my room with the curtains drawn," James said, his usually quiet voice clipped. He started down the hallway and Kurt had no choice but to follow.

Kurt cleared his throat and caught up with the boy. "Did you do anything interesting? I didn't see you at the pool," he said, referring to the Westerville community pool. The community pool was where Kurt, Blaine, and the others spent most of the summer; Will also worked there as a life guard, which made the entire summer extremely unbearable.

"No," James answered. His voice was softer as they turned the corner. He was still as thin as he was on the last day of school, if not thinner. His skin was pale and looked scratchy and rough, like parchment paper. Though things about his appearance had changed, his blue eyes were still vibrant, glowing, piercing.

"Oh." Kurt shoved his hands in his pockets. "James, are you doing okay?"

The other boy stopped walking abruptly. "What do you mean?"

"Can you show me your arms without hesitating?" Kurt snapped, making sure to keep his voice down.

Something flashed across James's eyes, something like anger or frustration. He instinctively reached up to his neck to loosen his tie.

"Have you gotten help since last year?" Kurt persisted.

"That's none of your business," James retorted. "You have no right to feel like you can butt into my personal life, Kurt."

The words froze Kurt. "Where do you stand on me, James?"

The questioned softened the look on James's face. "I'm not sure what you mean by that."

"Do you still love me?" Kurt asked. The words tasted bitter, sour in his mouth.

James smiled sardonically. "Of course I do, Kurt. I don't understand why you'd ask such a stupid question."

"Then why are you mad at me?"

"I'm mad at everyone." James narrowed his eyes and took off down the hallway, starting towards the main office.

* * *

Kurt didn't walk next to James after they kindly requested the key to the auditorium from Dean Marcus. Instead, James walked about twenty feet ahead of Kurt, who held the door key. As soon as James reached the auditorium, he automatically fit himself between Will and Carson. Kurt found Blaine's eyes as he reached the group and handed over the key to Lovett.

"You okay?" Blaine asked under his breath as the doors opened and the group flooded in.

Kurt shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly. "I'm keeping an eye on James."

Blaine blanched. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you later," Kurt promised after failing to come up with a decent explanation for what had gone on earlier. He filed in behind David as they went up the stairs to the stage.

On the stage, the bleachers were already set up, but the piano had a nice coating of dust from no one playing on it all summer. Like clockwork, the boys arranged themselves the way they did last year, except for the few freshmen who didn't know where to sit. Kurt recognized Anthony and invited him to sit between he and Wes. There were a few other freshmen, a boy with black hair and one with sandy hair, who sat down in the middle of the group.

Lovett had sent Adam and Simon up to the AV room to turn the lights on, and they came back down with Adam's face a bright pink and Simon looking smug. For some reason, Kurt couldn't help but wonder what had happened between them.

"Anyway," Lovett said, clapping her hands, "I'm glad to see you all back. I apologize for having to hold class in the auditorium. Although it does give us practice for Sectionals."

"Speaking of Sectionals," Blaine piped up, "what are we singing for that?"

"Sectionals isn't for a while, Blaine," Lovett said. "Sectionals are in November. It's only September."

Blaine nodded and shrugged his shoulders.

"But now that you bring that up," she said, "we're going to have three numbers, like always. We'll have a group opening number, followed by a solo, and closed by another group number."

"What are we singing?" Will asked from the back of the bleachers.

"We'll figure that out soon enough," Lovett said.

Cody raised his hand. "Can we pick the songs?"

"I actually had some ideas, but if you have any suggestions, please tell me."

"I vote for 'Rio' by Duran Duran," Kurt said excitedly. He got a small smile from Blaine, who nudged him in the shoulder.

"Why don't we do something more modern?" Will suggested.

Lovett pointed a finger at him. "If you're about to suggest we do that awful song by Robin Thicke, you better stop where you are."

Will stared at her with a raised eyebrow. "What's wrong with Robin Thicke?"

"Have you even read the lyrics to that song?" Thomas chimed in. "It's talking about blurring the lines of consent, and—"

"But it's so catchy!" Carson defended.

Cody covered his face. "That doesn't make it any better!"

"Alright, alright," Lovett said loudly when the volume of the room increased, "we're officially not doing Robin Thicke and his sex song. Does anyone else have any other suggestions that are from this decade that aren't offensive to half the population?"

"Miley Cyrus?" Cody suggested timidly.

Immediately, the entire group let out a moan.

"We're not singing a song by a girl who rides a wrecking ball without any clothes and sticks her tongue out like she's a lizard," Will complained loudly, throwing his hands up in the air. Carson and James nodded in agreement.

Lovett raised her hands. "Okay, okay. Enough discussion. How about we just look through some of the music files?"

Another moan spread through the group. Lovett's music files were a stack of folders, held together by a rubber band, that held sheet music for the Warblers. But the files were extremely dated, with the most recent song being something from 2007.

"Let's not go there!" Wes pleaded, standing up with a hand desperately stretched out.

David scrambled to his feet. "Please, Ms. Lovett. We're begging you. I'm pretty sure there's still dust on those music files."

Lovett shook her head and unearthed a packet of folders from her bag. "Oh, nonsense, boys. What's so bad about the music files?"

"The songs in those folders are so old, no one probably remembers them," Adam pointed out, chewing on his pinky nail.

Lovett huffed and slapped the folders down on the piano. "Well, unless one of you can come up with a decent song, then I won't look through these folders," she said. "And just for the record, these songs aren't that old. If you want old, we can go back to the Beatles."

"What about something by Maroon 5?" Will suggested, hand raised in the air. His lips were curved into a devilish smile that made a shudder run across the entire group.

"I'm not liking that grin, Fitzroy. You're giving me a bad feeling. Sit down," Lovett snapped. "Does anyone else have any suggestions from this decade?"

Kurt raised his hand, sitting in the front row. "Why not Adam Lambert?"

"Yeah, because we'd kill to see Hummel in a glittery cat suit," Will muttered under his breath.

Kurt's face immediately turned red and he felt the pulse racing in his ears. He wanted to turn around and throw a punch at the blond (or at least glare murderously at him), but he felt Blaine's hand on his knee, squeezing it reassuringly.

"How about Queen?" Lovett advocated hopefully.

Thomas rolled his eyes. "But we did Queen last year for Nationals."

"But not for Sectionals!"

Cody perked. "Ms. Lovett, I think I'm speaking for everyone when I say we should sing something we've never sung before. We've already sung Queen before, so why not something by someone different?"

"I'm open to… most things," the director hesitated. Her hands were fiddling with the folders, as if ready to open them and start frantically searching for music. "Does anyone have anything they'd like to sing for us? Anything?"

Simon Dougray instantly raised his hand. "I've got something, Ms. Lovett. Can I give a demo?"

The director was weary, but she waved him on. "Okay. Get down here, Dougray."

The dark haired boy got to his feet and made his way out of the bleachers. Brushing off his blazer, he glanced at Lovett with a sharp smile. He straightened his tie and cleared his throat, beginning to sing.

_She's a pistol, pointed at me,_

_Smoking from her head to her feet,_

_Packing the heat, she's lethal, with a license to kill,_

_Stilettos ripping up in the street—_

"Alright, go sit down, Dougray," Lovett interrupted noisily. "Go sit down."

"But I didn't get to finish my song," he pouted.

"We're picking something else, something that doesn't talk about girls in skimpy outfits. Go sit down," Lovett ordered.

As Simon retreated into the bleachers, Blaine offered his hand for the first time since the class started. "Ms. Lovett? I have a suggestion."

Lovett pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. "Please tell me it isn't a song that objectifies women, talks about prostitution, or is, in general, really awkward."

Blaine smiled as he stood up. "Of course it isn't," he assured. He looked over his shoulder and gestured to Wes, David, and Kurt. The three boys joined him in front of the bleachers as he talked about the song.

"Didn't we sing this one a while ago?" Wes questioned under his breath.

"Yes, but it's one of the ones we actually liked singing," Kurt pointed out.

"Granted that was the one song Lovett allowed us to jump on furniture because she loved it so much," Blaine said with a small chuckle.

The four boys faced the group finally, hands clasped behind their backs. Kurt, Wes, and David started to hum a familiar tune that made Lovett automatically smile a little. Some of the others recognized it and either groaned or nodded contently.

_At first we started out real cool,_

_Taking me places I ain't never been,_

_But now, you're getting comfortable,_

_Ain't doing those things you did no more,_

_You're slowly makin' me pay for things your money should be handling_

Wes took over the next part and Blaine transitioned to humming the background vocals. Kurt rocked back and forth on his heels as he sung, but he made the mistake in glancing away from Blaine for half a second. When his eyes found the bleachers, a pair of sapphires startled him, almost to the point where he stopped singing. But his eyes darted away and he licked his lips.

_And now you ask to use my car,_

_Drive it all day and don't fill up the tank,_

_And you have the audacity to even come and step to me,_

_Ask to hold some money from me until you get your check next week_

As the boys cascaded into the next few verses, they began to shift back and forth in a uniform manner, swaying from side to side. Kurt desperately tried to not catch James's eye again.

_You trifilin', good for nothin' type of brother,_

_Silly me, why haven't I found another, a baller,_

_When times get hard I need someone to help me out,_

_Instead of a scrub like you who don't know what a man's about,_

_Can you pay my bills?_

_Can you pay my telephone bills?_

_Can you pay my automobile bills?_

_If you did then maybe we could chill,_

_I don't think you do, so you and me are through_

As the song progressed, Blaine got into it, at one point hopping onto the piano bench and pointing into the crowd of Warblers. In response, Wes jumped into the lid of the piano, spreading out almost seductively. Some of the boys laughed, while Lovett turned pink. Kurt awkwardly leaned against the piano, trying to be somewhat interesting, but his heart dropped into his stomach when he saw James quietly chuckling.

It wasn't a bad feeling, not a bad feeling at all. It was certainly a jarring feeling for sure. Almost in a rush, Kurt was back in the choir room last year. Everyone was coming back from Christmas break and getting reacquainted, and there was James: James, this tall, stick figure-like character, with ashy hair and a vibrant air about him.

The James from last year laughed at almost everything. The James from last year was very responsive, very upbeat and positive. The James from last year was kind and loved to read.

Now, the current James was a mess. He was an almost-completed puzzle, always at the point of almost being whole with the possibility of being broken back down again. He was happy, but he was sad in mere seconds. He was sitting up straight, but his entire mood could change with the snap of the fingers. His mood constantly swirled between happy and sad, calm and angry.

Kurt was knocked out of his reverie when the song ended and the other boys broke into a round of applause. Blaine, Wes, and David took a few bows with grand smiles on their faces, and Kurt smiled, delayed.

"Good job, boys!" Ms. Lovett cheered, clapping happily. "I think we've found our opener for Sectionals!"

"But Ms. Lovett," Will pointed out abruptly, "we've already sung this one before. Shouldn't we go for something else, something we haven't done before?"

Kurt's smile instantly dropped into a grimace. Will Fitzroy was a relentless thorn in his side, always pointing out the flaws and negatives of every situation.

Ms. Lovett shrugged her shoulders. "Well, I think it's a good song that's worth repeating. Anyone else feel the same way?" Most of the group raised their hands, and Lovett nodded, smiling. "There we go. We have our opener for Sectionals."

* * *

After class let out for the day, Kurt found himself in the library, a book spread open on the table in front of him. He had his earphones plugged in, listening to several songs he could sing for his NYADA audition, and he was scribbling down work for his French class.

Just looking at his French book made his scowl and remember the fact that he had that class with Will. He had to deal with the blond every day for an hour and a half, on top of choir. He didn't know how Blaine could've possibly ever dated the blond for as long as he did.

Suddenly, his left earbud was jerked out and he leapt back in his seat. Blaine stood next to him, the earbud in his hand. "Hey Kurt!"

"Hi, Blaine," Kurt said. He clapped a hand over his chest. "You scared me… Where's the fire?"

Blaine pulled out a chair plopped down. "There's no fire. I mean, unless Wes caught his new disco ball on fire or something…" he said. Shaking his head, he went on, "Anyway, I came to tell you that Markus gathered up everyone who wanted to be wing Precursors for this year."

Kurt pushed his French book and his phone away from him, sitting on the edge of his seat. "Really? Did he pick already?"

"He picked the nominees, but not the actually Precursors," Blaine reported. "He's sending out ballots in the next few days during classes to let the student body vote. And whoever gets the most votes gets the position."

"That's great!" Kurt said happily. He took Blaine's hand between both of his. "Who else was there to be nominated?"

Blaine's face suddenly dropped. "Well, I was the only one there for North—"

"Which means you'll probably get it," Kurt interjected excitedly, squeezing Blaine's hand.

Blaine smiled a little. "Maybe. Anyway, Adam was there for East, so he'll probably get it. Stephen was there for West, so he'll probably get it." He paused.

"What?"

"Both Will and Simon were there for South."

Kurt went still. "Both of them were there? Why?"

"Well, I assume they both wanted to be South's Precursor," Blaine said quietly. He leaned back in his chair, pulling his hand from Kurt's, and folded his arms over his chest.

"But Simon was last year's Precursor," he said. "Doesn't that give him an edge? Shouldn't he automatically be the one to pick?"

Blaine lifted his shoulders in uncertainty. "I don't know. But I think Markus might consider Will instead."

"You said it was a general election amongst the wings. Shouldn't the entire wing choose the Precursor, not Markus?"

"Well, not exactly," Blaine said. "It's sort of like a presidential election. Everyone can cast their ballot and vote for who they want to vote for, but it's Markus who gets to decide the Precursor."

Kurt licked his lips. "So it's between Will and Simon."

"Yep."

"I really hope Simon wins."

Blaine let out a loose chuckle. "Yeah, I hope so, too. He wasn't too bad of a Precursor. I'm afraid that if Will gets it instead, he'll completely screw over the entire wing. Plus, he'll have an even bigger head."

Kurt covered his mouth to hide laughter. "That's true. We'll never hear the end of it."

"Yeah," he said. A beat of silence passed between them, then he nodded at Kurt's French book. "So, what are you working on?"

"French," Kurt reported glumly, pulling it back towards him.

"How's the class? How have you survived with Will?" Blaine questioned. He leaned his elbows forward on the table and watched meticulously as Kurt wrote.

Kurt let out a long sigh and flipped a page in his book. "I've barely survived. We never talk to each other, but he sits near me and his mere existence unnerves me," he said through gritted teeth, his eyes darting across the page.

"I know what you mean." Blaine nudged his elbow. "Hey, can you teach me a few French words?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Anything."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "But you don't speak French."

Blaine smiled innocently. "There's a first time for everything, isn't there?"

"Alright," Kurt smiled. "Well, how about this: Je t'aime beaucoup."

What came from Kurt's mouth was fluent French, fluid and smooth. But what came out of Blaine's mouth in reply was a garbled mess of syllables and sounds that made no sense.

Kurt let out a snort and covered his mouth with both hands. As a result, Blaine's face turned pink and he shook his head.

"Maybe I'm not so good at this," he admitted, rubbing the back of his head.

"Maybe you just need a little practice, honey," Kurt suggested. He leaned forward to kiss Blaine gently on the mouth.

* * *

"Hey, watch it! I'm not the one going against you! There's no reason to throw stuff at me!" Adam shouted. A second earlier, he had dodged a book that had been thrown at the wall right behind his head. Now, the book was open to a random page on the floor after hitting the wall.

Simon Dougray faced him, breathing in and out sharply through his teeth. He paced back and forth across his room in the South wing, wringing his hands together persistently.

"Sorry," he muttered. Louder, he said, "But Will knows how much I want this position. He knows I had it last year, and that I want it this year."

Adam crossed his arms over his chest and sat down in Simon's desk chair. Simon's room was the complete opposite of his own: dark, with the curtains drawn tightly over the windows, and clothing and other items spread out all over the room. Most of the time, he invited Simon over to his room in East, just so he wouldn't have to face the mess that was Simon's room.

"Well, competition is healthy," Adam said snippily.

"Not in this case," Simon retorted. He reached onto his bed and grabbed a wrinkled t-shirt, balling it in his fists and hurling it at the door; it fell limply to the floor.

Adam pushed his large, thick glasses higher up on his nose. "Oh, come on, Simon. Don't be a brat. It's just a stupid position."

"Says the guy who's going to get it two years in a row," the dark haired boy replied, his voice sharp like the edge of a knife.

This stunned Adam. "W-well, I'm the only one applying for the position. There's no one else willing to take it."

Simon rolled his dark eyes and ran a hand roughly through his hair. "Whatever."

"Don't be like that," Adam said softly. "You know I'm just trying to help. If you don't want me here, I'll leave."

The moment Adam started to stand up from the desk chair, Simon stopped pacing. "Don't do that to me, Adam. You know I want you here."

"Then act like it. All I'm hearing is you, you, you. You're acting like a brat because you might not get what you want," the boy with the glasses pointed out. He gripped the arm rests of the chair.

Simon rolled his eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. "Look, I just want this position, okay? I want it to put on my college application. I _need _it."

"You're going to get in, Simon. How many times have I told you? Ohio State is going to let you in," Adam told him. "You're going to be fine. If anyone should be worrying about getting into college, it's me."

"Of course. Here we go again. You, you, you," Simon sighed. He jabbed a finger at his friend. "It always comes down to you, doesn't it?"

Adam narrowed his eyes furiously at the other boy. "Don't point your finger at me. I don't know what's gotten into you. Is it just the fact that Will's running against you?"

Simon dropped his hand and sighed again. "I think it's best if you leave."

"Don't mind if I do." Adam brushed past him and made a beeline straight to the door. He left the room without another word.

As he paced down the hallway, he heard another thump and assumed Simon had thrown something a lot heavier than a book against the wall. Suddenly, a door on his right opened, and Will stuck his head out.

"Adam?" he questioned.

He stopped dead in his tracks. "Hi, Will."

The blond looked puzzled. "What are you doing here?"

"I was here for Simon," he said simply.

Will nodded. "Was that why I heard all that shouting from his room just now?"

"Yeah." Adam thrust his hands into his pockets nervously.

"Lover's quarrel?"

Adam blinked, almost choking on his next breath. "What? No!"

"Kidding," Will said gently. "I'm only kidding. But really, what's wrong with him?"

Casting a glance over his shoulder, he stepped forward tediously. "He's just upset that you're running for Precursor."

Will's face went blank. "Oh. Well, that's his problem, not mine. If he wants to be a cry baby about it, then let him. I'm not afraid of a little competition."

"You're not, but I am." Adam licked his lips. "We've been friends since freshman year and I've never seen him this mad before."

Will blinked, then stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. "Are you asking me to drop out?"

Adam fell utterly silent.

"I'm not dropping out, Adam," Will said calmly. "Yes, Simon's my friend, but he's already had his turn in the spotlight."

Adjusting the glasses on his nose, Adam shrugged his shoulders. "Well, alright. I hope you enjoy having a bloody nose after we find out who won."

"He wouldn't punch me," the blond laughed as Adam paced down the hall. "…right?"

* * *

Cody brushed loose hair away from his face; it had gotten longer over the summer, but he hadn't bothered to trim it. He had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he worked in the kitchen in the North wing. A metal mixing bowl sat in his hands as he whipped together cake batter. The kitchen was completely empty, silence surrounding him.

On the counter next to an array of ingredients was a stack of college letters he'd received in the mail. Like the rest of the senior boys in the wing, he was in a college application craze. Everyone was busy writing essays and filling out applications to send off. He was aiming for a small college in New York to get a basic education, but his main goal was to decide how he really wanted to live his life.

To him, it was either cook or play baseball. He'd picked up on cooking when he was little, watching his dad prepare meal after meal. As a result, his mind was a cookbook, filled with a plethora of recipes. He cooked for his family was he was home, and he also cooked for his friends at Dalton.

But he'd been playing baseball since he was a six-year-old, something he loved. In the spring, he played on North's baseball team as the resident catcher. Last season was interesting, seeing as North barely won against South, who had James Montgomery as their pitcher.

He loved doing both things, but there was only enough time for one.

Suddenly, one of the kitchen doors opened and Wes and David burst into the room.

"Chef Cody is busy at work, I see," Wes said, peering into Cody's mixing bowl. "What are you making?"

"Cake," Cody said as he reached for a pan on the top shelf. David ended up having to get it down for him, and he spread the batter into the pan. "You know, as a treat for making it through the first few days of school."

David clapped his hands together. "Sounds good to me."

Wes nudged his friend in the elbow, pointing at his phone. "Don't you have to head down to the track? Try-outs are starting soon, aren't they?"

Sighing, David nodded. "Yeah, I should. I'm going to go change. You're coming to watch, aren't you, Cody?"

Cody nodded as he slid the cake pan into the oven. "Of course I am. Kurt, Blaine, and Thomas are coming, too."

"Cool. See you down there," Wes said as he left the kitchen to change.

David leaned against the fridge and pulled out his phone, trying to pass the time. Cody used this time to clean up his workplace, moving all the college stuff to the table. He wiped down the counters and put all the dirty dishes into the sink. Just as he was finishing up, Kurt and Blaine came through the door.

"Hey, Cody," Blaine greeted. His face was practically glowing, and Cody almost asked why, but he figured it had something to do with Kurt, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Are you baking a cake?" Kurt questioned, nodding to the oven.

Cody clapped his hands together to get the flour off his skin. "Yeah. It's for after Wes and David's track try-outs. I'll decorate it when we get back and then we can all eat."

"Oh, the perks of being friends with a chef," Blaine said appreciatively. He nudged the smaller boy with a smile.

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Cody said jokingly. "Just wait until I put poison in your food someday. You won't be very appreciative of me then."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Kurt was sitting in the bleachers by the school's track with Blaine. Cody was sitting in the row in front of them, reading a book, David looking over his shoulder; there was no trace of Thomas, who should've been here by now.

On the track, it was easy to spot Wes amongst the rest of the boys there: he was the only one by the water cooler, downing cup after cup. Though, it was also to seek out Will and Carson, the blond duo from South; they were stretching together.

As expected, where Will and Carson go, James will follow. The thin, dark haired boy was leaning over the railing, trying to get the blondes' attentions. Even though it was hardly chilly outside, he donned a coat that fell to his knees, one that better suited Antarctica than Westerville. Finally, he got Will's attention and the two boys talked over the railing. Kurt couldn't help but glue his eyes to the dark haired boy, and he felt a small prick of spite.

"You okay?" Blaine murmured, lacing his fingers with Kurt's.

Kurt snapped out of his daze, whipping around to look at Blaine. "Yeah, of course. Are you okay?"

"Fine. I just hope Wes does well."

"He will. He always does."

"I hope Will trips," David muttered in front of them. Kurt and Blaine broke out into a fit of laughter, and Cody smiled a little as he read his book.

A few seconds later, Thomas raced into the bleachers, his flaming hair helping him stand out from everyone and everything else. He plopped down on Cody's other side, breathing heavily.

"Sorry I'm late, guys," he panted. After he'd caught his breath, he explained, "I was on the phone with Marissa and I lost track of time."

Marissa Harvey was Adam's sister. She was a senior now, just like the rest of them, but she lived in North Dakota, which was where she and Adam were from. Last year, Marissa had left North Dakota to see her brother as part of an intervention, and she'd ended up staying for as long as possible. She missed out on a lot of school, which forced her to make it up through summer classes, but she was finally caught up now.

She was also Thomas's girlfriend. She was much shorter than the redhead, who was the tallest out of everyone. Usually, she wore tight clothing and band t-shirts with an array of beaded bracelets and chunky rings and dangly earrings, her face painted with eyeliner and mascara. Marissa was the one person no one would put with Thomas, but somehow, they worked.

"How's Marissa?" David asked.

"She's fine," Thomas answered, his face a little red from hurrying all the way across campus. "She says hi."

David nodded and leaned forward to look at the track.

On the track, Will was talking to James, who was leaning over the railing. He had a cup of water in one hand, panting a little from running a warm up.

"Good luck," James said, his thin fingers curling around the top of the fence.

"Thanks," Will said after gulping down another mouthful of water. "I think I'll do okay."

James nodded. "You will."

Will was quiet for another moment. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Why would you ask that?"

Will shrugged his shoulders and tossed back the last bit of water, hesitating. "I don't know. You've just been quiet. Is there anything you want to talk about?"

James blinked, his blue eyes vibrant. "Well, we can't really talk about anything right now. You're about to go run."

"So? Just tell me. Is there something bothering you?" Will leaned his weight from side to side. Behind him, the boys were starting to group up in wings and Carson was waving at him.

"Go. I'll tell you later," James said. He stepped away from the railing and sat down in the front row. Will shrugged again and tossed his paper cup in a trash bin, running out to join the rest of the boys.

Each wing had a separate coach and conducted try-outs for their own wing. The only time wings competed against each other was during actual meets. Last year, Wes easily made it in. He was sure to make it in again.

The try-outs didn't last as long as expected. Not as many boys tried out this year compared to last year. After half an hour, the boys were retreating from the field, covered in a light layer of sweat. Kurt and the boys ran down to the railing to see Wes, who was in the middle of drinking his third cup of water.

"You did great, Wes," David said as he reached down the give his friend a high five.

"Thanks, man." Wes crumpled his cup and placed his hands on his hips, breathing in deeply. "I just hope I made it."

"You hope you made it?" Cody squeaked, nearly falling over the railing. "With a performance like that, it'd be hard to _not _let you on the team!"

Wes cracked a smile and tossed his cup into the garbage bin. "Thanks. And thanks for coming out to see me. I think you guys are my good luck charms."

"Of course. We wouldn't miss it for the world," Blaine said warmly.

As Wes cooled down, James slowly made his way onto the field, his hands tucked in his pockets. He dodged several sweaty guys, cringing inwardly, as he navigated his way. Finally, he found the two blonds by one of the water coolers, constantly refilling their cups.

"Good job, guys," he said quietly. At first, he thought they didn't hear him, so he repeated himself, only a little louder. Will turned and broke into a smile.

"Thanks," he said. "It was nice having you here. I know you would've rather been inside, reading or doing homework, so it means a lot that you came out to watch." Carson nodded in agreement, still drinking water.

James stood there awkwardly for a moment. "Well, are you guys going to head back to the dorms or do you have to wait for the results?"

"The results will come out tomorrow. We can go back right now," Carson said, finally finished drinking. His blond hair was pushed back, his face dripping with sweat. Will, on the other hand, was hardly sweating at all. His jersey didn't cling to his body like Carson's did, and his forehead didn't shine with sweat.

James pursed his lips into a flat line. "Okay. Well, I guess we should—"

But he was cut off when Carson and Will bombarded him with a hug, sandwiching him between them. James wriggled in their grip, his eyes shut and his head tucked to his chest.

"Okay, guys, quit it," he mumbled, pushing against them.

"Oh, come on, James," Carson said. "It was only a hug. It wasn't like we were attacking you or anything."

James shuddered. "Still. I don't do hugs."

"You'd probably do something else."

"Excuse me?"

Carson made eye contact with Will, then James, and then he laughed it off. Will rolled his eyes, clearly embarrassed by his friend. He passed James and gave him a reassuring look.

"Carson's just being stupid. Don't take him seriously," he said under his breath.

"I never take him seriously," James replied snippily. "Now, come on. I'm not spending any more time out here with a bunch of sweaty guys."

* * *

After try-outs, and after Wes had taken a shower, Cody decorated the cake. After he spread the final layer of frosting across the top, he brought it to the kitchen table, along with a stack of plates and forks.

"Why are we having cake?" Thomas asked curiously.

"This is why," Cody said as he presented the cake. Across the top, it said: YAY FOR SURVIVNG SENIOR YEAR SO FAR.

Thomas nodded in comprehension and grabbed a fork and a plate.

"But we still have most of the year left," Wes pointed out, twirling his fork between his fingers. "Who knows? We could die tomorrow, and the cake would be a lie."

"THE CAKE IS NOT A LIE," David shouted. He snatched a fork off the pile and stabbed it into his piece.

The boys broke into a fit of contagious laughter, Cody laughing so hard that he almost dropped the long serrated knife he was using to cute the cake.

"The cake may not be a lie," Blaine said, lifting a bite to his mouth, "but it sure it delicious."

* * *

In the next chapter: Kurt practices more for the NYADA audition he might never get, the boys fight over the Precursor roles for each wing, and James starts to doubt himself.


End file.
